


photogenic

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (sort of exhibitionism), Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Selfie-kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Pictures can speak a thousand words, but Genji's got no time for that. That's what filters and captions are for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> McGenji Week - Day 3: Domestic
> 
> ... Taking selfies is domestic, right? _Right?_
> 
> (unedited, sorry. deadlines, u kno)

It’s amazing, how fast Genji can make McCree go from cautiously agreeable to completely willing with the right amount of _give-and-take_. Then again, Genji doesn’t normally meet much resistance when it comes to wooing and seducing. (Though, he admits to himself, he hasn’t been in the practice of it since his cybernetic changes.) But, if there’s anything he has learned from his self-indulgent youth, it’s that presentation and timing are just as crucial as the suggestion itself.

And, if there’s anything that Genji has learned _since_ growing up—it’s compromise.

He knows the idea of a camera in bed is likely too lewd for McCree’s tastes, but he presents the phone in the middle of grinding down on McCree’s lap. It’s unclear which action causes McCree to suck in his breath and grip his hands at Genji’s sides. Probably a combination of both.

“What,” McCree begins, rolling his hips up despite his dubious tone. His hair clings to his neck with sweat, mouth red from where Genji has bitten his lips. “Are you up to? I’m not doing _that_ badly, am I?”

Genji rocks forward, knowing where to rub the smoother plates of his armor against McCree. McCree makes a small noise in the back of his throat and, with a breathless laugh, Genji tightens his legs around McCree’s waist.

“As if I would allow you to be _bad_ ,” Genji says, one hand holding the phone as he clicks it on. His other hand makes its way to the back of McCree’s head, fingers tangling through his hair in an idle gesture, not quite soothing or reassuring. He pulls, all while looking away to key in the passcode.

The act of being disinterested is a lie. Genji is very much paying attention to the way McCree’s head tilts to his touch, breaths coming out shorter, and how McCree redoubles his efforts to grind up against Genji. The knuckles of his right hand turn white over Genji’s armor, nails digging uselessly against the plating. Genji gives the hand a brief glance and finds he likes that particular detail a lot, almost as much as he likes McCree biting at his neck, teeth bared more viciously. Genji has to swallow back his gasp, though he is sure McCree can feel the hitch at his throat anyway.

“It’s me, actually,” he manages to say instead. The phone blinks on, camera ready, and Genji grins, eyes on the screen. “I look good, riding in your lap.”

McCree gives him a scrutinizing look, trying to discern where he is heading. They are chest to chest, both of them panting, hands roaming all over each other except for the one Genji uses to hold the phone. McCree’s eyes dart to it, noticing how Genji puts it up at a particular position, just slightly past McCree’s shoulder.

“I don’t need you in it,” Genji says, letting his grin turn sly. He puts his mouth to McCree’s ear, voice dropping into a low murmur, “You’ll only ruin the shot.”

It’s nostalgia of the dirtiest kind. Genji’s current pleasures run a little differently these days—more deeply, he supposes, with a tendency to revolve around a single particular person—but he is in the mood to indulge himself like he used to. His body is not the same as it had been back then, and he finds that it’s all the more reason to do it, just to see if it will be as fun as it was. He guess that it will, though he is undecided if it will have anything to do with McCree being the one to fuck him, and not some one-night stand. But for now Genji is simmering with a growing need. He wants it, and he wants McCree to want it as well.

It’s fortunate, then, that McCree decides to entertain him, even when he still eyes the camera warily.

“Go on. Take your picture then,” McCree says, one hand sliding down to touch an opening beneath Genji’s armor. His finger catches on an exposed wire, making Genji squirm, but it’s his smirk that causes Genji’s circuits to start firing rapidly. “I reckon it’ll last longer.”

“ _Aha_ ,” Genji says, breathless. He moves his hips again, hard and fast enough to make the mattress bounce beneath them, and McCree’s head drops as he lets out a startled, ragged breath. Genji takes the picture.

He doesn’t let up, still moving in slow circles. The noise McCree lets out sounds suspiciously like a whimper. Genji pulls at his hair again, forcing him to look up at the phone.

“See? Don’t I look good?”

In the picture, McCree’s face is hidden, pressed to Genji’s chest, and Genji’s expression is caught in mid-laugh, one arm wrapped possessively around McCree’s naked shoulders.

McCree stares at the image, and Genji can see the color rising to his neck.

“Yeah, you do,” McCree admits, rather grudgingly. He turns back to Genji, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his hand close, the phone between them like a secret. “You won’t get my face, will you?”

“No,” Genji promises. A pause. “Why would I? They’re selfies.”

“Cheeky.”

After that, McCree is all quiet enthusiasm, pushing Genji down into the mattress to slowly take him apart. Genji snaps his pictures, one for each piece of armor McCree takes off him, until Genji is nothing but his exosuit, synthetic fibers more receptive and sensitive to touch. When McCree moves over him, Genji lets him have his way, so long as he has a free hand. It doesn’t take long for his gallery to start accumulating a string of dazed expressions, flushed skin, and languid smiles. Meanwhile, McCree remains faceless and anonymous in the photos, nothing more than a glimpse of hands that clutch over Genji’s body or a show of exposed muscles, tense enough to suggest movement and, more obscenely, the type of movement as well.

Genji’s arm sways over McCree, shifting so the image is only his eyes peering over McCree’s shoulder. McCree glances behind him, finally curious, and Genji’s thumb halts over the button, unwilling to even capture a blurred shot of McCree’s face.

“Need a better angle, darlin’?” McCree asks, looking back down. His chest heaves, skin damp with sweat.

Genji lowers his arm, shuddering as McCree hand plays over his exposed abdomen. “What do you have in mind?”

McCree grins, easing back on his heels. Both his hands brush over Genji’s thighs, down until he can shift one of Genji’s legs up and over his shoulder. Genji follows the movement, noticing how McCree pushing down on him makes the arch of his back perfectly curved. He bites back a sigh when he feels McCree sliding wet against him.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Genji says, and takes the picture of himself, one leg hiked up and being pushed into the mattress. Obscene.

McCree laughs, putting enough pressure to have Genji sink lower into the sheets. “Vain creature.”

Genji glances up from the phone, unable to offer much of a retort. He does, however, rise up to the bait. He holds out the phone with a lazy smile.

“Take a picture of me like this?” he asks sweetly, though with the right infliction he makes it sound like a dare.

As if sensing the challenge, McCree takes the phone, but not before raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t have much of an eye for this sort of thing,” he says, flicking through the options. Filters. Focus. Flash.

Genji stretches, angles himself in a way that makes McCree’s gaze darken, and he spreads his legs just a little bit wider. A taunt more than an invitation. “But you have an eye for me, don’t you?”

McCree only looks at him through the camera’s screen, turning Genji’s feigned disinterest against him. “Guilty as charged. Now smile, hun.”

It ought to have been quick, but McCree’s attention shifts up from the screen, momentarily glancing at Genji, as if to compare from what he sees on the phone and what he sees with his own eyes. Genji finds himself involuntarily staring back, not at the camera, but at McCree. The way McCree looks at him now reminds him of how McCree sights down his revolver, coolly assessing before he pulls the trigger. The thought sends a shiver up Genji’s spine, and he tilts his head back on instinct. Smiles on command.

McCree takes the shot, camera flash brilliant, and Genji already knows the photo will be better than anything he has taken so far.

“Well?” McCree asks, handing him back the phone.

Genji lets out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding The moment passes and he relaxes back into the bed, though he still feels as if he is burning from the inside out.

Genji takes a brief look, and tosses the phone over his shoulder. It bounces once on the mattress, and fate makes it so it lands face down, easily forgotten. “I look debauched,” Genji says dismissively. He beckons McCree back over him with a leg wrapping around his waist and a hand tugging on his arm.

McCree falls forward, bracing his hands on either side of Genji. He laughs, easing in for a much needed kiss. “Oh, good. I was aiming for that.”

Genji meets him halfway, both hands to McCree’s face before he does.

“And I know you hardly ever miss.”

* * *

This is one more picture after that, a split second decision to fumble his hand through the bedding before it’s too late.

Genji makes sure to capture the sheen of sweat on McCree’s back, his tense muscles, and his right hand clenched in the sheets as he presses his face into Genji’s shoulder. Genji shifts his hips, his legs and thighs, until he can hear McCree’s broken moan, and Genji takes the picture, arms a little unsteady as McCree’s body jerks against him, but technology is a wonderful thing. The focus adjusts in time. The picture blinks on screen.

Genji admires it as McCree gasps his name. The composition is beautiful, the negative space of tangled bedsheets in Mccree's fist, his body framing the lower half of the picture. Genji’s own smug expression is pressed into the disheveled mess of McCree’s hair.

“You look good,” Genji tells him, and waits for McCree to catch his breath.

McCree lifts his weary head from the curve of Genji’s neck.

“Let me see,” he manages to say, and Genji hands him the phone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus aftermath. or, like " _bonus_ ", depending on how you feel about it.

“I like this one,” Genji says, with all the critical calmness of an expert.

McCree tilts his head to take a look at the screen in Genji’s hands.

The picture in review is an upwards shot of Genji straddling him. The upper half of McCree’s body doesn’t make it to the picture, which is plenty fine; it’s the lower half that makes him pause. It almost a little too risque for him, but at least his crotch is modestly covered by the exaggerated curve of Genji’s backside. The smirk on Genji’s face shows teeth, and the sly wink on his face brooks no argument about what's going on. McCree’s hand does makes a cameo, though, gripping tight to one side of Genji’s ass, all the evidence in the world for Genji to see and admire.

Genji swipes to the next picture, looking over his new gallery of sordid images. Many of them are similar, with Genji looking pleased as punch and McCree’s face always obscured or hidden—for which he is mightily glad for. It is proof of Genji’s skill with taking selfies, and McCree finds that he doesn’t mind being an accessory to Genji’s vanity, strange as it seems. He doesn’t have a taste for overt flaunting, but he likes that Genji is so keen to flaunt _him_ , in his own way.

Genji glances at him, lips still reddened from where McCree had kissed the hell out of him, repeatedly until Genji came apart. Prettier than any selfie in McCree’s opinion, no matter what filter Genji uses.

“What about this one?” Genji asks, catching his stare. He lowers his eyes back to the phone.

He could project the entire gallery using the holoprojector if he wanted. It’s bound to make McCree blush bright red beneath his beard, but Genji only uses the phone’s small screen, curling up against him so that McCree has to lower his head. It’s oddly intimate, and McCree suspects this isn’t the usual part of the routine for when Genji used to have nights (or, hell, days) like this.

“It’s fine, I suppose. Liked the other one better.”

And Genji readily deletes the pictures, every single one of them as they go through the images. McCree rethinks about calling it vanity.

“This one is good, too,” Genji says, moving on.

“How on earth,” McCree begins, staring at the picture, “did you find the time to type up a caption?”

“Voice command,” says Genji, shrugging, though McCree has no idea what the voice command would be for fire emojis. And even then, he doesn’t remember Genji saying anything beyond the usual pleased noises and teasing banter.

“Your ways are mysterious, and sometimes very deeply troubling to me,” McCree says.

Genji laughs, body pressing against him, warmed by their shared heat. He deletes the damned fire emoji picture with an easy swipe of his thumb.

“Right here,” Genji continues, showing him another picture. Captionless, no filter. “This part was fun.”

“Hm?” McCree looks at it and smiles at the expression Genji had made in the image—a little look of happy surprise.

“You had your hand beneath my wires,” Genji reminds, utterly shameless. He shifts against McCree, mouth beneath his jaw. His bite is light and teasing as he deletes that picture too, and then he swipes three times to another image. “And here, I remember, you made me cry out your name.”

He pushes the phone into McCree’s palm.

“You wicked thing,” McCree says, feeling the heat rise to his face, but he takes the phone anyway. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

Genji grins, hand now free to trail over McCree’s stomach and dip down to some indiscriminate spot on McCree’s inner thigh.

“Tell me your favorite pictures,” he says, thumb rubbing in maddening circles over McCree’s skin.

And McCree does, flitting through the rest of the gallery. Genji had taken so many of them, some of it in bursts, others in singular, aesthetic shots.

“Here,” he says, through gritted teeth. He hopes Genji doesn't expect him to explain why—it should be clear, the image of Genji with his head thrown back, caught with half a moan on his lips, the other half in a smile at being jostled while he had taken the picture. McCree remembers that one too, vividly.

Genji’s hand starts to stroke him and McCree’s grip on the phone nearly slips.

“Mm, you held me down right after,” Genji agrees. He kisses McCree, words tumbling inelegantly from his mouth into his, “Felt so nice.”

McCree finds his attention divided, between Genji’s hand and the picture he stares at, and Genji himself, murmuring compliments into his ear.

“Don’t forget to erase it, Jesse,” Genji reminds, the laughter there in his voice.

And the next few photos are gone under McCree’s unsteady fingers as Genji’s hand works him over. McCree can barely focus. His gaze starts lingering longer and longer on the pictures. Some very distant part of him thinks of the irony of Genji laying right beside him, and yet here he is, rocking back and forth into Genji’s hand to just the images of him—(of _them_ ).

Until he finally comes across the picture he had taken of Genji himself. The building heat he feels suddenly bubbles over, hot and desperate.

“This one, _ah_ -” he says, gasping with his head bent over the phone, his gaze locked to the screen. Genji had looked at him, mouth parted, body curved into the sheets, expression open with pure heat. He wonders what had been, to make Genji look at him like that. Another moan escapes from him and he shuts his eyes. “This one’s my favorite.”

He can feel Genji move, one leg carelessly thrown across his thighs, not quite on top of him. Genji’s other hand is at his face, jerking his head up, forcing his eyes to open. Genji’s stare burns into him, everything wanting.

“It’s my favorite, too,” Genji breathes, and kisses him so violently McCree thinks he can see the colors shift in his vision, all sparks and stars and dancing lights.

He forgets completely about the picture, doesn’t care in the least when Genji plucks the phone from his clenched hands and deletes it forever. When he comes down from the high, McCree laughs as Genji clears the whole gallery with a few taps of his fingers.

“Favorite,” he repeats, a little incomprehensibly, but he’s got Genji under his arm, hugging him tight.

Genji slumps against him, burying his face into his shoulder with a huff.

“Favorite,” he agrees, and tosses the phone aside.

 


End file.
